I am really, entirely unhappy with being the token “skinny girl” for all other’s comparison.  Really?!  Does it have to come up everyday?  Do all insecurities have to be compared to me in a way that makes me both ashamed of my looks/body/whatever, while also ashamed of my own insecurities?  Yes, I said it.  I have insecurities.  Amazing, I know. 

Yes, I am generally easy on the eyes.  Yes, I am moderately thin-ish.  Yes, I am mildly intelligent.  Should I be ashamed?  Should I feel bad?  And what do I do when compared to others in that, “oh you can wear anything,” or, “you can eat anything,” or, “it’s all so easy for you.”  Am I supposed to thank them or apologize, or maybe some jacked up combination of both…but then which comes first?  Ladies, there is no genuine compliment in the statement: You are so skinny.  Really.  Not a drop. 

Everyone has insecurities.  Everyone.  Whatever you see when you look at me, I probably don’t.  Unfortunately, because those around me feel the need to push their insecurities on me in some unfair comparison, I am not allowed to talk about my insecurities in 0pen public.  And I know it’s not just me.  I’m willing to bet anyone blessed with something has to deal with similar comparisons and guilt.

But what are my insecurities?

I’m out of shape, severely.  Mostly due to my recent struggle with Lyme disease, but also because I’m lazy.  I know it.  I deal with it daily when I’m winded going up the stairs, when I can open a bottle, when I’m so tired I want to collapse, when I can’t run or do a sit up or lift a heavy object.  And I’m insecure about it.

I have small boobs.  They’re deflated and odd and just small.  Skinny girls tend to, but not all.  It sucks.  I wouldn’t dream of wearing a bra without padding.  And even then, on my more bloaty days, my tummy still sticks out further than the girls.  I’m insecure about that too.

Speaking of my tummy…I float somewhere between a size 4 and size 8 (depending on the brand and cut), but usually settle on a size 6 and a longer than normal shirt to cover the inevitable muffin-top situation.  Oh, and you don’t see that particular pleasant feature on me because I spend most of my time holding my breath and/or sucking in my gut.  Yeah, I’m insecure about that too.

My hair rarely cooperates.  My skin rebels like a teenager.  I have wrinkly hands and rough feet.  I have varicose AND spider veins, increasingly, on my legs.  I normally have dark circles under my eyes and less than white teeth.  My upper arm flab lets me do the “double wave” thing that is oh so pleasant to watch…so I just don’t extend my arms very often in any sort of wavy motion.  And I can’t find a decent razor to save my life, so there are bumps and missed spots and ingrowns galore, all the time. 

I realize I don’t have as much to complain about as some.  I realize I’m blessed in many ways.  I realize that most people don’t even see a third of the imperfections we see in ourselves.  I can handle my own quite solitary brooding in the mirror each night.  What I can’t handle is the barrage of backwards-ass compliments that do nothing but throw others’ insecurities in my face while making my own feel unworthy and petty.  I don’t thank you and I’m not sorry!  I love all my friends dearly.  I adore the ladies I work with.  Strangers, I could mostly give two shits about.  But I will do anything to lift the spirits of those around me.  I see all of your beauty.  I envy those things that make you sparkle and shine, but I refuse to deny you the right to revel in it.  No one should be made to feel bad about the things they don’t have; but also, no one should be made to feel bad for what they do have, so just stop already!

The older I get, the less significant time seems to become.  Or more significant, depending on how you define significance.  There are seemingly fewer minutes in the day.  There are seemingly fewer days in the year.  I remember when the two months of summer break felt like a decade and the school year felt like a lifetime.  But now, with only two short weeks left in the boy’s kindergarten year, it seems like only yesterday we had our first meeting with his new teacher.  Like only a week ago, he was gone to his dad’s for the summer.  And in the blink of an eye, he will be back there again for this summer.  Part of me, I suppose the more selfish part, is looking forward to his (and my) vacation.  I will still see the girl as normal, but I won’t have child or children around every day.  That part of me looks forward to me time.  That part of me looks forward for the opportunity to do what I want, rather than what is expected of me.  That part of me looks forward to shucking off a good portion of responsibility, even if it is only for a short while.  But the rest of me dreads his departure as one might dread the amputation of a limb.  As I dread each and every time I have to say goodbye to one of my children.  More often with the girl, but in no way less painful.  You’d think I would have gotten used to the idea by now.  I’ve been saying temporary goodbyes to one or both of my children since the boy was a year old and his father “decided” to be a father.  Granted, there isn’t the stream of tears that once followed his departure, even if only for a weekend.  At least not an outward display of them.  But there is still the inconsolable pain of loss in my heart.  Thankfully this gradual shortening of time does make their times away seem slightly less “significant,” if not any less painful. 

But really, why does time shorten as years on the planet lenghten?  I remember when an 8 hour day was more than sufficient to finish any project I decided to take on.  In my mind it still is.  But in reality, 8 hours is a drop in the bucket.  In reality, I can lose an entire 8 hours to researching the compatibility of Rock Band and Guitar Hero games and equipment.  Or more recently, researching wedding invitations and photographers, only to not find a suitable option for either.  Apparently time has a cruel sense of humor.  The older I get, the more I have to accomplish, or alternately, the more I take on.  And the less time I seem to have.  Does this time-warp phenomenon only exist in my life, or is it universally true?  I could have sworn it was only 10am five minutes ago.  Only now I look at my clock and realize I have less than an hour left at work.  Where did the day go? 

It might be different if I accomplished something every now and again.  Or even if I just sat, but had incredibly prolific thoughts all day.  But no.  I simply maintain.  I maintain a household, barely.  I maintain a couple children, most of the time.  I maintain a functioning body and mind, sort of.  Even my maintaining is lacking in accomplishment, and I swear it’s because I just don’t have the time to do it right!  10 years ago, I could get things done, done well, and still have time to party all night and do it all again in the morning.  15 years ago I could write an impressive 10 page report in a couple hours.  And 20 years ago, days seemed like they would never end. 

Today?  Today I accomplished nothing.  Today I will feel hurried and tired all day.  Today the sun will go down before I realize the time.  Today I will go to bed exhausted, far to late, and dread tomorrow as I fall asleep.  And in two weeks I will have all the time in the world, yet will accomplish nothing with it.  And two months later, the boy will come home. The school year will start anew.  And life will keep on trucking at far to fast a pace, leaving me gasping for breath until the end.  How very depressing it all is.

Some people feel they must, or rather, have a very real need it seems to butt in where they don’t belong or are not wanted, or both.  Why?  Here are a couple key hints: when someone says “that’s not what I was talking about” and then goes back to their conversation totally leaving you and your unwelcome comment our of it, back off!  When someone says “I’ve got this” while holding up their hand in the international sign for stop talking and go away, give some serious thought to doing just that.  If someone seems to be a perfectly functioning human being probably fully capable of accomplishing some inane duty or another, leave them alone and later, if warranted by some momentous mistake, you may revel in their inabilities and ignorance.  Silently.  In your own head.  All in all, if you find yourself spontaneously drawn to events or conversations without invitation halfway through the progression of said event or conversation and are not typically met with sighs of relief or expressions of joy at your mere presence, reconsider opening your mouth at all, except maybe to eat or drink.  All necessary communication can be effectively achieved with occasional head nodding.  Thanks.

I had a detailed post done two days ago explaining all this, but when I was a spell-check away from publishing, my computer shit itself and all was lost.  Hrumph.  Yeah, it’s been that kind of week. Month. Year?  Bear with me as I try to recap…

Moving, wedding, teenagers, the boy and the girl, too many projects at work, finances, Mr. W…I think that was all.  You know, basically everything that encompasses my everyday!  No biggie.

We move in 9 days.  We aren’t packed.  I packed 9 boxes in the last two days and besides the boxes sitting in there, you wouldn’t know it.  We don’t have a truck.  We don’t have definite moving help.  We don’t have someone to rent our house.  WTF?!  And I’m about 3 inches from blowing up on someone about it.  Someone being Mr. W unfortunately as he is pretty good at being a target of opportunity.  Not that he’s totally innocent, but still, I’m holding back.  Things promise to be better, much better once we move…and as much as I want to believe promises, part of me is always skeptical.

The wedding is in just over 100 days.  We don’t have a DJ.  We don’t have invitations.  We don’t have tables, chairs, a tent, or any other rental stuff.  We don’t have garments except for my dress and shoes, which is unwearable until it’s tailored.  And we are slacking on the desire to have a wedding at all.  (Talk of doing the elope thing has been flung around lately) What do we have? A minister and a location.  Sweet.  September 25th promises to be number 3 on my “best day ever” list when all is said and done, but that’s not for another 100 plus days.

Teenagers…need I say more?  I love them, but they are teens, and teens bring drama.  I think it may be part of their lifeblood.  I remember my teen years vividly (well, the ones that aren’t clouded by chemicals anyway…) and I have hold no grudge to any other teen…but still.  And the little ones, again, need I say more?  The girl got Lyme from me so now I am forced to watch her go through what I did and feel nothing but pure, unadulterated guilt for “infecting” her.  And the boy, well, one more month until the end of the school year, which means a summer away with his dad. 

Work is work is work.  And finances are finances.  I spread myself too thin in both areas and then suffer the wrath of my own decisions after.  I could kick my own ass for it, but really, what good would that do? 

And Mr. W…relates to all of the above.  Stress is contagious, but when we both have it, it only multiplies exponentially.  I long for my loving man who is just so overtired these days that he seems to be in hibernation…permanently. 

I passed by his old apaprtment the other day, and ever since have been reminiscing on our time there.  It was small and humble, but I have nothing but fond memories of those four walls.  We got to know each other there.  We fell in love there.  We had “our” time there.  Yes, we had fights and heartbreaks and even broke up more than a couple times, but there were far more wonderful days, and nights, in those spaces.  And I miss them so.  We were genuinely excited by, and about each other there.  We held each other up.  We cared and loved and were one. 

Today I picked up a package from the post office.  When the lady brought it to me, she had a giant grin on her face and asked if it was a diploma or some other equally exciting document.  I told her I hoped so, and then ripped open the package right there while she gave me an impromptu drum roll.    And it was!  As the lady at the post office applauded and showered me with congratulatory praise, I opened my official Bachelor of Science diploma, beaming, I’m sure!  Yea!  I brought it to work to show off, and my dear, dear friend and maid of honor, C, has been announcing it wherever we go, bringing out smiles and praise and congratulations from all around me.  Finally getting hold of Mr. W, I gave him my wonderful news, to which I was first ignored, then given a half ass, forced, not even trying to show any emotion at all (unless boredom is an emotion) “yea, you got your diploma.” Period**.  Hmmm….if I hadn’t already been choking back tears for days and therefore mastered the art, I’m sure that would have brought on quite the waterworks.  Nice.  Well, at least my less than personal friend co-workers are happy for me. 

**His excuse? “You graduated months ago and haven’t been excited or brought it up until today.”  Well today I got my Pretty Piece of Paper!  My countless hours, thousands of dollars, and days off my life due to stress have amounted to something concrete, finally.  Excuse my hopes for some small amount of validation.  *Sigh*

I’ve been playing hooky from my blog lately.  Not exactly sure why.  Maybe I’m tired of whining about how I feel.  Maybe I’m having some guilt about blogging when there are a MILLION other things I should be doing that I’m just not.  Maybe I’m being lazy.  Whatever it is, maybe I’m over it.  Maybe I’m not. 

So how do I feel I (don’t) hear you ask.  Well.  Lyme disease sucks.  It really does.  Physically, I have more bad days than good days.  There is pain, pretty much everywhere.  Some days it’s not so bad.  Some days it’s excruciating.  Think of a body part…yeah, it hurts there too.  So that’s fun.  Also, there is the “floaters,”  the harmless little black lines and spots everyone has in their eyes from time to time.  Only, mine are multiplying like horny rabbits and are always there.  Seriously, the words on my computer screen are dancing right now.  It makes reading anything very difficult.  And a new addition to the eye thing: now there are white, or bright spots along with the black spots.  It must be similar to what celebrities see after being flashed with a thousand flashbulbs on a regular basis.  My ears, constantly ringing.  Constantly.  It’s like after going to a really good rock concert, only I don’t get the perk of actually going to a really good rock concert.  It makes me very sensitive to sounds.  Annoying sounds are that much more annoying.  Loud sounds are that much louder and more grating.  Even whisper sounds drive me nuts.  I’m seriously craving a sensory deprivation chamber right about now, but all my problems are internal, so that probably wouldn’t work anyway.  I’m nauseous, and my appetite fluctuates between famished and I never want to eat again.  I almost always have a headache.  At the moment (I think) I am developing a nasty cold, since I’m stuffy about 50% of the time and there is a golfball-sized lump where my left lymph node should be in my neck.  My hands and feet swell randomly.  I’m tired and achy when I wake up in the morning, every morning.  After my shower (at $5 per shower thanks to needing a 6×6 tagaderm patch just to take a shower…gift ideas anyone?) and coffee, I am fairly awake for about 2 hours, then back to sheer exhaustion until I finally make it to bed at night.  I have cotton mouth pretty much all the time thanks to the pain meds, which don’t full work.  I get horrible stomach and muscle cramps thanks to the antibiotic infusions every 12 hours.  And now I’m on ADHD meds for the severe memory lapses and brain fog, so who knows what kind of side effects that will bring.  The antibiotics are also bringing about all the “normal” antibiotic side effects: candida, indigestion, digestive issues, upset stomach, etc, etc.  Probiotics are holding it off to a tolerable level, but then that just adds another couple pills a day to choke down.  Yea! 

Then there is the emotional stuff.  Long term pain = depression, of some sort or another.  I’m cranky most of the time, which I very unfairly take out on Mr. W (who is taking this all very well considering) and my kids, unfortunately.  (If only the ex-men would call more often to take the brunt of the crank!)  I’m feeling extremely unattractive, undesirable, un-everything thanks to a new, very short hair cut that I’m really  not liking (the showering thing, it only made sense to make my “getting ready” routine as easy as possible),  the bloat/weight gain that makes it difficult and uncomfortable to get dressed in anything but sweats, and, oh yeah, there’s the 4 inch long tube sticking out of my chest, just above my left boob, which requires wearing a sports bra to bed every night, and I’m already pretty flat in that area.  Like I need the extra compression.  My upper body has become a no fly zone, and with my flat-chested sports bra “lingerie” and my extremely short hair, I’m feeling more an more like a boy in the bedroom.  Not so great for the “mood,” at least on my part anyway.

Aren’t you glad you asked? 

Beyond the Lyme, I’m prepping for Christmas, which incidentally will be held over New Years in my house as the kidlets are with their dads this year.  Money is tight, but on-line shopping has provided me with some fantastic deals over the last couple months.  Yea for being proactive in something. 

Mr. W got a new job, starting just after Christmas.  Fortunately it’s like a 40% pay raise and in the field he loves.  Unfortunately, his office is about a 1 1/2 hour commute each way, even with public transportation, and his hours may be sporadic due to the type of work he will be doing.  So he won’t be home much during the week.  But we will be moving somewhere near the middle in the early Spring, and hopefully his new connections up there will throw out some info on jobs in my field of work and then we can move all the way up there.  I’m not planning on changing jobs any time soon…well at least until after I A) graduate, also early spring, and B) get the tube out of my chest and resolve all of my health issues.  “Nice to meet you on my first day of work.  By the way, I’m going to need to work a half day once a week so I can meet my home nurse, and I need at least 2 days off a month for doctors visits, and will probably average 1 other day off a week for just general sickness, and that doesn’t even touch any kid-related time off…thanks for the job.”  Yeah, I’m sure that would go over well with a new or potential employer. 

And speaking of new jobs, one of my best girlfriends is starting today at her new job, here, with me.  Yea!!  We met briefly in basic training (different squadrons there), and went on to Tech school together.  Although we were in different classes for the same career field, we had the same circle of friends and lived in the same hall.  We went to our first base together and managed to work out being roommates there.  Our friendship didn’t do so well in the dorm setting.  She was a party girl and I grew tired of that pretty fast as I was more interested in boys, and yes I do mean boys.  Looking back, I had pretty shitty taste in males!  I married ex #1, despite her loathing of him and warnings about him.  I even left her off the guest list to our wedding.    Anyway, we both eventually transferred and went on with our lives.  You know my story.  She went over-seas.  Grew up a lot.  Had a son.  Moved back stateside, and we reconnected about 5 years later, our friendship re-growing on a much more adult level.  Long story short, she was looking for more security for her and her boy, and my office was looking for more reliable new employees.  I introduced the two and wa-la.  She starts today.  All around, it’s great.  I have a close friend who is actually geographically close.  My kids and her son get along great, and they all have had a shortage of “at home” friends up to this point in their lives.  And she’s getting the security and benefits she needs for her and her son, while working decent hours.  I get a reliable, hard co-worker among a group of (mostly) assholes and slackers.  Win-win-win all around!

So that’s that.  I’m successfully dizzy from watching the letters dance on my screen, my fingers are starting to tingle from actually using them.  And I need a smoke and a coffee refill.  Oh, yeah, and I should probably get to at least one of those previously mentioned MILLION things I need to get done, like, yesterday.

Just in case I slack on the blog again for a while…

Mr. W and I have been together for two years, give or take a couple days/weeks/…  Ok, so we don’t know the exact date of our anniversary, and by this time next year we will be married (or at least that’s the plan) so it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things sort of way.  We went out on our first date sometime in November, before Thanksgiving of 2007, and ended up officially together at some point thereafter without even really realizing it.  So the anniversary day is all sort of fuzzy.  Last year, he was in Iraq and sent me surprise flowers for our one-year.  (Awww, ain’t he sweet?!) But this year…this year is different.

IT’S LIKE PULLING FREAKING TEETH TO GET HIM TO AKNOWLEDGE THE THING!

What is it about men?  Seriously, there are a couple times a year you guys have to suck it up and pretend (convincingly, convincinglyis important!) that you are into all that relationship-y mushy stuff:  Valentine’s Day,  birthday,  anniversary, and possibly New Years Eve (you know, the kissing thing at midnight…which I’ve never done coincidentally…).  That’s basically it.  Four events a year to feign excitement for.  FOUR!  I mean, I get it, ya’ll aren’t into it.  “It’s just another day.”  “It’s just a holiday for girls.”  “It’s something Hallmark and the chocolate people made up to make money.”  Whatever!  Suck it up and tell her you love her already.  Do or say that thing you know makes her weak in the knees and all fluttery in the tummy.  You know what it is.  Besides, you’ll probably get something out of it in the end anyway. 

We sort of picked a day last year which ended up being the day he sent flowers.  Made sense.  Of course neither of us kept track of the day, so this year I’ve made several attempts, in vain, to pin down a day for “us,” for celebration.  Mr. W keeps insisting on Thanksgiving, but:

1. I don’t want to share “our” day with any other National holiday.
2. Thanksgiving isn’t the same date every year.
3. You can’t go out for a romantic dinner on Thanksgiving because if family doesn’t happen to be involved in your plans, the local Chinese fast food place is probably going to be the only option.
4. We are spending Thanksgiving this year with his family, after a long road trip to Michigan, with four kids in the car, at a hotel, with same said four kids…not so romantic to me.  And it’s all about the romance, DAMMIT!

Very rarely am I that “girly-girl.”  But, I do like me some romance from time to time.  I’m allowed.  I make up for it in other ways.  I’m not going to list those ways right now (or probably ever) but just trust  me, I do make up for it.  And now I’m at my very familiar, too familiar, annoyingly familiar crossroad:  Do I hold out and demand what I want, or do I just say F*%@ it and give up?  With everything else going on in my life, I’m tempted to hold out for at least one thing…but who am I kidding?  With everything else going wrong in my life.  Disappointingly, dishearteningly, disgruntled-ly wrong…I’m most likely going to go with the latter, you know, for consistency’s sake. 

*sigh…*

update:  Shortly after posting this, I got an email from the folks at homeaway.com.  The subject line was this:  “Re-Ignite the Passion with a Couples Getaway.”  Hmmm…have they been reading?

Positive thoughts. Positive thinking. Positive intentions. Positive crap?  I don’t know.  I’m feeling rather blah right about now.  I’ve done all the right things and yet, still struggling.  I wear the right clothes.  Dress for the job you want, not for the job you have.  I say the right things.  Correction does much but encouragement does more.  I think the right thoughts.  It will all work out in the end.  I try to think positive, speak positive, be positive, and yet, here I am.  I sit at work, well-dressed, and pounding away at my blog in frustration. 

Things get better, things get worse.  Moods get higher, moods get low. 

Wednesday Mr. W was stressing about life, I think.  Schedules and need-to-dos and stress itself was stressing him out.  I tried to calm him, make him see it really wasn’t all that bad, be positive, say the right words.  I think it worked, and Friday, we, as a family, had a great day.  We went to the fair.  Ate lots of junk.  Won prizes (including two more immortal fair-fish).  Saw baby pigs race. Watched (and smelled) stinky farm animals.  It was a good day.  We rounded it out with an evening at home with three of the four children.  Saturday he left for drill…and my children turned into assholes.  Yep, I said it: ASSHOLES!! 

Why is it that it takes exactly THREE times being told for my children to do something.  ALWAYS THREE TIMES!  Not one (which is the ideal), not two, not four, not fifteen.  THREE.  WHY?  Not listening.  Saying the same word or making the same noise over and over and over and over AND OVER again.  Fighting with each other.  Fighting with me.  Bossing everyone around.  Making demands.  Fussing when demands aren’t met.  Yeah, this went on for THE.  ENTIRE.  WEEKEND.  After the fair, and a movie (Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs…in 3D…absolutely awesome!) and nothing but fun and spoiling for two days!  So Sunday morning I made them get up and clean the house.  Yes, I made my 4 and 5 year old clean my house.  That’s just how I roll.  Unfortunately (as it was meant for punishment) and fortunately (as I would rather them have fun with laughter and smiles any day) they thoroughly enjoyed cleaning, so, yeah… AND, the girl, still in the final stages of potty training: overnights, wet her bed both Friday and Saturday night.  That, for those of you who don’t know, meant four loads of laundry right there (two times for the comforter, two times for the sheets and waterproof bed cover thingy).  Not regular laundry either.  Stinky, pee laundry.  Not to be combined with anything else laundry.  Extra long wash times in extra hot water laundry.  Big bulky blanket laundry that takes longer to dry.  So a total of 5 hours, per day, tied up in her bed clothes.  Yeah, the regular laundry did NOT get done…so shoot me. 

Mr. W was home again Sunday afternoon.  I was still a bit cranky from the weekend FROM HELL and probably took it out on him.  Although I can’t imagine I would EVER do something so hideous…  Apparently we were fighting when we went to bed last night.  Something about dirty socks being inside out and an annoyingly squeaky spot in the floor.  I guess I missed it.  But he’s still mad at me.  Weird.  Frustratingly weird.  So frustratingly weird that my intentions to get a jump start on my homework (yep, started another class today) are all dashed over the rocks of frustrating weirdness, being beat down further by blah and negativity.

Why is it everytime I think I’m in a good place, with good intentions, with a positive outlook on life, SOMETHING (fate, God, the Universe, whatever!)  HAS TO GO AND SMACK ME UPSIDE THE HEAD WITH A FREAKING SLEDGEHAMMER TO LET ME KNOW JUST WHERE MY PLACE IN LIFE ACTUALLY IS: AT THE FREAKING BOTTOM, APPARENTLY!?   

So in the middle of trying to be positive, to stay ahead, to plan painting and packing and purchasing a house, to be organized, to avoid the stress and struggle, to get done, be done, to just find happiness… I’m, no we’re struggling and stressing (and apparently fighting) and being so freaking negative we are probably walking around backwards.

The Mr. and I had a fairly uneventful and mostly ok weekend.  Friday, we went to see GI Joe with the kids.  It was great!  Action almost the whole time.  Just pure entertainment value.  Great.  Saturday we had a “pajama day.”  No showers, no getting dressed, just pj’s all day.  We headed out once Saturday morning for a Starbucks run, and to pick up the puppy post-op (snippy, snippy!).  3 movies and 3 hours of playing Generals head-to-head.  Nice way to spend the day!  Sunday was homework/housework/yard work day.  Unfortunately I was strapped with the homework for 7 hours straight and didn’t get to help much with the others.  But Mr. W did do a fabulous job with the yards (front and back) and the house and the laundry. 

As far as pain, yeah I had it/have it still.  I’m on antibiotics now, but no relief whatsoever from the pain, yet.  The antibiotics just give me another thing to remember twice a day in the middle of my brain fog (yep, it’s a real thing, not to be confused with a brain cloud, however) and it makes it so I can’t go out in the sun without sunblock and long sleeves and pants and shoes and a hat and…–anyway.  I did test the sun avoidance requirement Sunday morning, choosing to sit out front in the morning sun rather than head down stairs (very painful stairs) to the shaded back yard.  All the normally unnoticeable scars I have on my exposed areas were bright red and itchy within a minute, and are still much more pinkish than normal today.  I guess I won’t be visiting the beach this summer…

All in all, a decently slow and relaxing weekend with the man.  Except, there was something.  I mentioned before that he’s been kind of strange lately.  Moody, snippy, distracted, cranky.  He insisted it was from lack of sleep, when he was acknowledging it at all, that is.  But this weekend we got more than our fair share of sleep, and yet the behaviour continued.  I don’t get it.  I tried to talk to him about how I’m feeling and Lyme disease in general, passing on the random bits of knowledge I’ve been picking up on the Internet and the handouts the doc gave me last week.  He was very disinterested to say the least, and at one point actually made the comment, “you just want to be sick, don’t you.”  Er, what? 

Mr. W is one of those people.  Those people who don’t trust any doctors.  Those people who don’t take medicine.  Those people who believe that all anyone needs is a good diet and a good night sleep.  While I agree that adequate rest and good nutrition plays a big role in overall health, I do not think that everything comes down to that.  Quite the contrary.  While I do try to find alternative healing methods, homeopathic medicines, etc, I do not scoff at the power (and sometimes instant relief) of western medicine.  While I do get frustrated with doctors and tests and vague answers, I do not avoid the doctor’s office like the plague.   I am no longer in a place that I will accept that it’s “all in my head” either.  After years and years, I finally have some validation to my physical feelings.  After years of military doctors accusing me of simply trying to get out of work.  After years of husbands telling me I’m always sick.  After years of people telling me it’s all in my head I finally know that it’s actually not.  And I refuse to sweep that under the rug as it seems Mr. W would like me to do.  I’m the kind of person who likes, no needs to research what could be wrong, what is wrong, what is going to be wrong.  The way I see it is the more I know, the more prepared I can be.  I tried to share this with him, but he’s the type to ignore everything until it goes away, either because you got better, or your body stopped fighting it and you feel a little better, or you just die.  Whatever works.  I wanted to share, erroneously thinking he may just be curious what is going on inside my body, what to look for in my symptoms, how to tell if something is wrong that I can’t tell him about.  I thought I may have a companion in this new journey I’m on.  But apparently not.  And in my anxiety-ridden, mood-swingy, brain-foggy state of confusion, my current solution is to just. not. tell.  Yep. (My guess here is that Mr. W won’t make it this far down the post, btw…not so much into reading me lately, especially when he sees the “Lyme” part) If I just go on like nothing is wrong, he will be happier, then I can be happier, then we can be happier.  Win all around.  Unfortunately for you, I will need an outlet for all my feelings and fears and discoveries as they come about.  Enter the blogosphere!   

But don’t worry, I promise I will continue with some mindless ranting about the drama in my life, as well the mommy-posts too!

I just don’t get men! 

So yesterday, after my final diagnosis of Lyme disease, I called Mr. W with the “good” news and thought, yea!  That’s that.  No more worry.  No more stress.  It’s manageable and we are going to be ok.  Of course when I say we, I mean me, health-wise, and him, undying love/stress wise.  After my 3pm dose of meds for the Lyme plus my pain meds, I was pretty pooped and dopey, so I skipped the girl’s cheer-leading practice opting for couch/snuggle time with the man.  He responded wonderfully, encouraging my resting on the couch while he made dinner.  Of course puppy didn’t really encourage my rest as he has this incessant need to sit on any part of my body that is not my lap while chewing his bone, but I digress.  Halfway through dinner (and True Blood – fantastic show that we are now obsessed with in the absence of LOST) I realized that Mr. W was being a little standoffish and short with me.  Upon inquiry, he (over, and over, and over) insisted nothing was wrong.  About an hour later, he leans over to cuddle? in an oh so Lenny-like fashion (you know, like from Mice and Men), crushing me so sweetly, and apologized for being cranky (wait!  I thought you said you weren’t cranky?!), blaming it on a long day at work and being tired.  Yeah, ok, whatever.  By 9pm, I was passing out on the couch, begging to go to bed early.  Of course, with this diet we are on, prior-night prep of our meals is almost mandatory, so we smoked and went inside to begin.  I got a sudden wave of dizziness while standing at the kitchen island that I told him I needed to lay down.  (yeah, I may have left the dizzy part out, but only so as not to worry him more with my current physical state of being.)  By the time he came upstairs, I had passed out.  Of course, not realizing this (because apparently my being under the covers with most of the lights off and my eyes closed didn’t tip him off…) he dropped the dog’s crate on the floor from, like, the ceiling and asked, with a definite irritation in his voice if there was anything he could do for me.  When I responded, sleepily, “What??”  He said, oh, never mind, I didn’t know you were sleeping…uh-huh… So I passed out again while he brushed his teeth and washed his face and did whatever other pre-bed-time ritual he does with the bathroom door closed.  He sat on his side of the bed and violently applied foot lotion to his feet, so violently that it jostled the whole bed, and me awake.  I stammered, noting the jostling, to which he replied, “what??  I was just putting on lotion!”…uh-huh…  As I began to dose off, I (albeit very delayed) realized there was an absolutely undeniable tension? irritation? pissed-off? sound to his words, so I asked if he was pissed at me for something?  “Nothing.”  ok…no seriously…WTF, man??  And then the tears started.  I don’t know why the tears started, but they did.  “Why are you mad at me?  What is wrong?  I know something is wrong!  Why are you so stressed?  You can’t be stressed?”  blah, blah, blubbery-blah.  Yeah.  Not pretty.  He comforted me in that wonderful way that only my Mr. Wonderful can, and confided that he has been very stressed about my pain and sickness, and although it is semi-good news that I have Lyme disease instead of the alternative (which of course is still a possibility, but we won’t think about that right now) he is still very concerned and stressed and is soooo sorry for being cranky…etc, etc.  Yes, he’s wonderful.  Somewhere in there I’m pretty sure I passed out again.  Until…he leaned over to kiss my sleeping head before he turned his light out (awwww…), and put the entire weight of his upper body on the support of his elbow, which he positioned directly on my fore-arm (he is a fan of Steinbeck, after all), waking me with a start, and pain.  Ah, well.  The things we endure put up with don’t kill each other over get used to in the name of love!  …and I passed out again.

About 1am-ish, I woke to some strange sounds coming from the vicinity of his mouth, accompanied by an intermittent symphony of snoring.  Like any good, thoughtful, sweet, wonderful bed-mate, I did not wake him, but rather repositioned his arm across his body, which usually causes him to follow, rolling him over on his side, which in turn ends the torture.  But not last night.  He woke up, or at least I thought he was awake, and yelled at me!  “What are you doing?  Why are you pushing me?”  “Baby, you were snoring, it’s ok.”  “DON’T PUSH ME!!”  “Dude, seriously.  What the f-?  Why are you yelling at me?”  “Mmrrffhhrrff…”  By this point I was almost mad enough to sit up and argue (did I mention it was 1am?) but…yeah…no.  Back to sleep. 

I called at noon to find out our plans for this evening.  (Going to see GI Joe and have dinner with his kids)  We went over them, then he brought up last night.  He brought up last night!  I explained what I remembered and expressed, quite peacefully I thought, my feelings about him trying to yell and pick a fight with me over nothing at 1am.  He apologized and we ended the conversation.

I called again at 1pm to let him know I got word from the vet that the puppy is doing ok, per his request.  (He got fixed today…so you know, surgery and all)  He was short and impatient on the ph0ne, so I pointed out he asked me to call.  He said I was being cranky and I was like, dude, we’ve been on the phone for like 30 seconds and he was like, no, earlier.  “Oh, you mean when I was telling you about how you bit my freakin head off last night in your sleep?”  “Yeah, then. But I have to go.”  “Ok…-click”  Holy freakshow, Batman!  PMS much??

And halfway through this post, at about 215pm, he called me, immediately beginning with “I’m sorry I was cranky.”  Uh, ok dude…  He promised not to be anymore, but seriously?  Seriously??  What the hell is going on?!  Is he really that tore up about whatever is wrong with me that it somehow justifies him being on some sort of male version of severe pre-menstrual estrogen overload and dragging me along behind the roller-coaster car of his mood swings, gaining bumps and bruises all the way?  Like I need anymore bumps and bruises at the moment?  He could at least wait until my health improves just, like, 10 more percent before inflicting all this whiplash!

Yeah.  It’s like that.  And I. Don’t. Like. It!

Nothing fits.  No, seriously, nothing fits!  Not even my “loose” jeans fit.  Not even my “easy-just-throw-it-on-when-I-wake-up-late” dress fits.  Nothing fits!  I’m going a little batty here.  I have gone up 2 full sizes in the last 6 months, most of that growth happening in the last 2 months and I have no clue as to why!  In response to my whining this morning, Y told me “you know, I hate to tell you but a woman’s metabolism slows down when she hits 30.”  I’ve only been 30 for 3 freaking days!!  What, was it a preemptive strike on my physique and self-esteem?  No fair!

But seriously, I really don’t know why.  I stopped going to the gym almost a year ago.  I haven’t been eating any differently.  I mean, really, here’s my food diary entries for the last two days (yes, I started keeping a food diary…I’m that confused by this whole thing):

Tuesday:

• Sbux Tea Latte – 200
• Sbux Low-fat raspberry muffin – 238
• 12 oz Gatorade – 100
• 2 20-oz bottles of water (+ 3 more glasses at home) – 0
• Tomato soup – 180
• Sbux Chicken cobb sandwich – 470
• A handful of pringles – 100
• Ramen with one egg and cabbage – 380+90

                                            Total calories: 1758

Wednesday:

• 2 slices of toast w/ cinnamon-sugar – 150
• 2 cups of coffee – 50
• a banana – 108
• a tuna wrap – 400
• cottage cheese and peaches – 120
• tea – 105
• home-made beef and broccoli over rice – 550

                                             Total calories: 1483

That’s not bad, and that’s how I eat most days.  Yes, occasionally I will hit up a fast food place and consume all 1500 calories in one meal, but I’ve always done that and for the most part my eating is like the above…so why the sudden weight gain that shows no signs of slowing down, stopping, or reversing? 

Yes, I realize exercise would probably help me out here.  I also realize my energy (or lack there of) problem would also be remedied by exercise, but seriously, how does one, a regular everyday mommy-type person begin and maintain an exercise routine when you are already tired?  What’s the secret here people?  And don’t tell me, “just do it” because even Nike dropped that logo years ago! 

I will be keeping my food diary for awhile, just to make sure I’m not missing anything.  I’ll keep the look-out for a non-exhausted period of the day to get some sort of exercise.  And, eventually, I will stop whining…maybe…

Silver lining:  I guess I will have to go shopping!  (You know, since none of my clothes actually fit me, like, at all…)

Update:  30 seconds after posting this, I got an email from Mr. W, the supportive one, the guy that is on board with cooking at home, eating better, being healthy…telling me he’s on his way out to lunch.  Nice.